


Secret Tells A Lie

by FriendshipCastle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Study, Gen, Historical References, anyway this is about Aziraphale lying, booze cuz it's Aziraphale and swears cuz it's me but that's as bad as it'll get, eldritch abomination angels cuz I like em, finally!! I managed to come up with a good idea for a 5+1! love this format!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendshipCastle/pseuds/FriendshipCastle
Summary: Aziraphale started his tenure on Earth by telling one Massive Lie and he wasn't great at it but the point is, he stuck to it. How many other times has he lied incredibly badly? Probably lots. Let's look at 5 very key lies he chose to tell throughout history that defined him as a person! Plus a fun bonus lie!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Gave it away

**Author's Note:**

> ty Hic for your help with this and I wanted to say you gave me the song that popped in my head when I tried to title this thing but that was actually KinoKahn I think, cuz it's on a playlist she made me for Captive Prince Feelings so.
> 
> Anyway, I'm still deep in GO and have like 3 other fic ideas bouncing around but this has a nice structure I can get behind. Happy Valentine's Day, I'm single and full of love and want to put that love out there in the form of celestial/occult beings having emotions. As always, you can ignore my end-of-chapter footnotes, they purely break down my research process because I am a huge nerd and love any excuse to research history. This fandom has been a gift for that particular impulse because it gives me 6,000 years I can play with.

It was thrilling in a way that always made Aziraphale’s stomach attempt to be in eight places at once. He just got so nervous, and it was never any easier. That initial moment, though, was a binary choice: go or no go. There was no grey area for him between choosing to commit or choosing to cave. Perhaps this was old-fashioned of him (Biblically old-fashioned, as Crowley would later say with a smirk), but Aziraphale saw it as a decision that was worth sticking to.

**3998 BC**

The very first time he felt that thrill as he stared up into the light, so blinding and piercing and all-knowing, and Aziraphale said something that he couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears as he lied to God. He felt his mouth moving, his hands wringing, his brow squinching up in worry, and he managed to hear the last part of his lie: “Forget my own head next.” 

The light of God’s attention shifted away, went out. Aziraphale looked around cautiously. His shaking slowed. There was no further scrutiny directed at him, as far as he could tell.

He sat down in the sand and put his head between his knees and wheezed for a moment. 

Aziraphale had looked up at God and known the truth but had spoken a lie. He had lied to Someone who was omnipotent. She hadn’t said anything, though. In fact—he twisted, wings dipping awkwardly as he peered over his shoulder and checked the masonry behind him. It was quite cleanly done; barely a sign of where he’d let the humans out. It had taken him a few years to get around to tidying it up, but it looked pristine now. Still, he was dealing with someone omnipotent and omnipresent, and God hadn’t asked him about the clumsily-patched hole in the wall of the Garden of Eden, either. It was, frankly, a bit odd.

Aziraphale straightened out, untangling his robe from beneath him and stretching his wings out to shade him from the relentless sun. Where had that instinct to lie come from? Why keep the truth of where he’d put that blasted flaming sword from the being who had created all of existence? 

Well, it was the same reason he’d given up his sword in the first place: to protect those poor, defenseless humans. They had needed that fire and protection more than he did (though his memory of Adam killing that lion still made him wince and look away from where blood had seeped into the sand all those years ago). He didn’t regret giving up a holy weapon; he was an angel, after all. God wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. He would just sit here, maybe for another decade or two, maybe for centuries, guarding the Eastern Gate from… from something. He smoothed a crease by his knee. Maybe She would assign him somewhere else? She hadn’t said anything about his little untruth, but she hoped She would slot him in somewhere new. Looking after an increasingly decaying garden was starting to get quite boring. 

“A z i r a p h a l e?”

He scrambled to his feet in a flurry of sand and feathers, then looked up at Shemyaza guiltily. “Sorry, yes? Just, just taking a breather.”

Shemyaza gave a slow blink, heavy lids closing over depthless silver orbs of swirling mercury. “Y e s.”

“Can I help you?”

“N o.” The angel’s mouth stretched into a smile. “Y o u. h a v e. b e e n… r e a s s i g n e d.”

“O-oh?”

“Y e s.”

Aziraphale gave it a moment of polite, terrified silence, then prompted, “And what department am I to be reassigned to?”

“Y o u. a r e. t o. w a t c h. o v e r. t h e. h u m a n s.”

“Oh, I’m in your department now? Well, that’s lovely, we—”

“N o.” Shemyaza’s head swayed side to side, hair swinging like weighty chains. “Y o u. r e m a i n. a. p r i n c i p a l i t y. Y o u. a r e. n o t. a. w a t c h e r.”

“All right…? Is that all I am to do?”

“Y e s. G u i d e. t h e. h u m a n s. S h a p e. t h e i r. p r o g r e s s. f o r. g o o d. T h i s. i s. y o u r. t a s k.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “I can… yes. I thank you for bringing this reassignment, Shemyaza.”

Shemyaza’s wings snapped open, all four sets gleaming dark gunmetal against the painfully blue sky. Knees bent, then paused. “A z i r a p h a l e?”

“Yes?”

“Y o u. h a d. a. f l a m i n g. s w o r d, c o r r e c t?”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “Yes, but I, ah, misplaced it.”

Shemyaza stared, eyes opening wide. “Y o u. l o s t. i t?”

“No, no, it’ll turn up, I’m sure. I’ll keep an eye out for it while I’m working on improving these humans, eh?”

Shemyaza’s eyes remained fixed on Aziraphale for a long moment. Finally, the angel said, “Y e s,” and with a whirr of wings, Aziraphale was alone again.

He wheezed once more, pressing a hand to his chest. He didn’t have to have a heartbeat, but it was going a mile a minute now. “Goodness,” he gasped.

Surely it wasn’t the best idea to lie to a Watcher? But he’d already lied to God, and She hadn’t said anything, so… 

In the back of his mind, a years-old memory played and a slightly sarcastic voice said, _“You’re an angel. I’m not sure it’s actually possible for you to do evil.”_

Aziraphale lifted his head. There was a distinctly thoughtful look in his eyes now, no longer the vague worry that he was mucking something up somewhere, somehow. He looked out at the sands. He straightened his shoulders under his robe. He smiled to himself. It was a secretive, small little quirk of the lips, and with his head tucked down and throwing a shadow in the deep lines on either side of his mouth, it almost looked wicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shemyaza (and actually most of the angel names I bother to look up) is from the Book of Enoch and is an angel called a Watcher that fell because of human fraternizing. I love giving vague and unsettling descriptions of angels, they're spooky.
> 
> Aziraphale doubling down when he's lying badly is the absolute best image. Hard to argue with him!


	2. Definitely intoxicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for an intoxicated angel and some sexism, folks.

**2793 BC**

“Mmm’not drunk,” Aziraphale said, blinking solemnly. He hoped he sounded convincing. He blinked with extra solemnity. It was difficult to feel solemn while seated cross-legged on a dusty patch of grass overlooking the gentle hills of Shulvari. Clouds scudded in patches and clumps, shifting along the landscape like fast-moving islands of shade. Somewhere in the distance, a goat bleated. Aziraphale hiccuped and repeated, “M’not.”

The demon Crowley snorted. “Like Hell you aren’t.”

“Shhhh, they’ll hear you!” Aziraphale waved a cautionary hand, then got distracted as the wine in his clay cup spattered. It took him a try or two, but he did manage to snap his fingers and miracle all the liquid back into it. He looked around guiltily, wrapping both hands around the cup. “Oh dear. No one saw, right?”

There were a few tired-looking farmers sitting around: two speaking quietly about goats while a set of five were debating the price of chickpeas around here. It seemed there was a lot to say about this hypothetical chickpea harvest. The side conversations were not very easy to follow after the listener had consumed eight cups of wine.

Crowley rested her face in her hands and rotated the palms against her eyes slowly, grinding back the shame of being seen with a drunk angel. “I thought you could hold your liquor, Aziraphale…”

“What? I mean, I can. Drunk a lot of stuff. Not drunk, though. I drank a lot. Have drank. Much drinking I’ve done.”

“It’s barely been invented yet.”

“I’m on the cutting edge.” Aziraphale nodded to himself firmly, reinforcing how true this statement definitely was. He took a small sip. “Gosh, this is good stuff, though. Much better than that yeasty honey mess they were on about when the, uh.” 

After a moment of awkward, abrupt silence, Crowley raised her gaze from her hands and lifted an eyebrow.

Aziraphale slurped more wine. It felt bad to bring up Cain and Abel. He’d heard about that whole tragedy, of course, because as a local angel he got the memos, but he wasn’t totally sure that Hell updated Crowley on such things. Probably; it was a new sin, after all, and it had been a few hundred years since then. Still, it was rather grim to bring up the production of alcohol around the same time as the first murder, so Aziraphale muttered, “Very good wine,” into his cup to try and steer back to pleasant conversational waters.

Crowley nodded reluctantly. “You’re right, it’s good.” She readjusted her headscarf to cover more of her red curls and shifted her seat so that her weight was on her other hip.

“And they just leave grapes out for a while?”

“Nah.” Crowley smiled and looked meaningfully at the goat farmers’ goat shed. “They bury ‘em. In great big jars. Leave ‘em for a bit. Add some stuff from trees to keep it fresher for longer. And then, wah-lah, you have wine!” She lifted her cup in a toast and then took it back quickly when a few of the men looked at her with suspicion and interest.

Aziraphale remembered to close his mouth and gave himself a little shake to restart his brain from this revelation about wine. “Amazing.” He sipped his drink slowly, trying to taste the tree stuff. It just tasted like bitter sunlight and heavy warmth, though. “So innovative, these humans.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty smart.” Her narrowed gold eyes were still fixed on one of the chickpea farmers, who was smirking and nudging a friend. 

Aziraphale talked a little louder, definitely sure that he didn’t want to hear what the chickpea man was saying. “D’you know, this is just… it’s superb, Crowley. Thank you for sujets— sugget— sudget— um, thanks for saying we should do this. Even though I yelled at you.” He'd been surprised to see the demon for the first time in a few thousand years and he'd gotten a bit worked up until Crowley had laughed at him and suggested trying the local brew. Aziraphale drew in a breath. "I'm sorry I yelled."

Crowley finally looked back at Aziraphale and snorted. “You’re drunk, angel!”

“I am _not_.”

“Sure you aren’t. Here, I have to shove off. Don’t forget to sober up—hangovers are, well, hellish.” She winked and slapped a couple of battered coins into the clay bowl that was placed meaningfully by the wine cups, then picked up a clay wine jug that was almost the size of her torso with one smooth movement. The smirking chickpea farmer choked on his drink. His friends had to pound him on the back, laughing at him all the while.

Aziraphale found himself a bit disappointed to be losing track of an adversary so quickly. It had been a few decades since he’d last spoken to someone who knew about The Plan and angels. He’d packed his wings away for good once he saw the humans got in a bit of a tizzy about such things and it could be dull to keep conversational topics to events within the past fifty years and one hundred miles. He cleared his throat. “Right, well. I’ll be seeing you around, I suppose.”

Crowley paused, a few steps toward the narrow goat path that led north, out of the hills and into the valley. She gave Aziraphale a long, blank look. “S’a big world, but I suppose it’s likely.”

“Gotta keep track of you and your evil and such,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley’s mouth did something complicated that could have hidden a frown or a smile. “I don’t know that you’ll have much luck. I’m good at my job. Already got a couple commendations, me.”

“Hey, _dzuk'na_!” snarled the chickpea farmer, his throat a bit hoarse. “Think you should be drinking with the men?” The two goat herders glared at him.

Aziraphale gasped a little at the crudeness. “Oh, that’s quite uncalled for.”

Crowley rolled her eyes and gave Aziraphale a tight little smile. “Right. Well, 'till next time, angel.”

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale said, distracted. The goat herders were striding up to the chickpea farmers now, walking with a furious purpose and starting to demand that they pay for the wine and get back to their farms, because such disrespect wasn’t welcome near their wine. The other chickpea farmers were insisting they didn’t even like this guy, couldn’t he just go? This was the best vintage yet and they weren’t ready to leave. Could they get a jug to go like that elegant woman who was heading north?

Aziraphale smiled a little at the tiny kindnesses humans could still dole out. He sent a little blessing to each of these nice men, and after a moment’s consideration, extended it to their grandchildren’s generation. 

When he looked to Crowley to share this lovely moment of humans unwittingly defending a demon, he saw that Crowley was stalking away down the path, wine jug tucked tight against her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shulvari is in Georgia (the country). It was the site where an archaeological dig discovered the oldest winery! We have evidence of Neolithic wine from 6000 BCE—rice-and-grape wine was made in China earlier, but this was the pure stuff. The Earth in Good Omens (and biblical) canon was created in 4004 BC so the timeline has to be fudged, but I think booze production was pretty quick cuz it comes up in the bible a fair bit. Still, cool to know humans figured out fermented grapes over 8000 years ago, and boozy drinks in general even earlier than that. I have a sneaky reference to mead in here cuz I like mead and it was also being made in China around 7000 BCE.
> 
> (I use BCE and BC very deliberately throughout this fic and these footnotes, by the way. 'Before Common Era' is our reality, while 'Before Christ' is Good Omens' timeline.)
> 
> Crowley mentions adding 'stuff from trees' to make wine last, and that's resin baybee! She also says 'voila' way before that was a word, because if Neilandterry can do anachronistic language, so I can I.
> 
> I am using a website with a timeline of events in the bible. This chapter takes place shortly before the Flood but after Cain and Abel and murder. Shulvari is noted to be pretty close to the site of Noah's landing after the Flood (where he immediately planted grapes). 
> 
> _dzuk'na_ is Georgian for 'bitch,' according to Wikipedia. Probably inaccurate to the time considering this is supposed to be taking place in 6000 BCE/ 2700 BC, but I like incorporating other languages to remind folks that it doesn't all have to take place in English-speaking Europe.


	3. Loves his clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot to say about this one, apart from pointing out an oblique reference to the future need to tell humanity about Jesus' coming. Figuring out Chinese fashion from 900BCE was hard! I completely faked it! Robes seem comfy and silk has been around for a long, long time!

**906 BC**

In a glorious stream of Heavenly light, Gabriel descend from on high, wings outspread and eyes spilling purple fire.

Aziraphale flinched. “Gabriel! What—?” He looked around frantically. The single camel with insomnia gave the angelic emissary the stink-eye, but the rest of the camel herd stayed asleep, as did the humans in the little camp just off the Silk Road. Aziraphale sighed. “You really should go native, Gabriel, unless you have a message for the locals?”

“No, that’s still a few centuries away,” Gabriel said absently, dismissing his wings with a wave.

“They raise such a fuss… I beg your pardon? Is there really a message coming to them? It’s been a few centuries since humans got a communication directly from the heavenly host...”

“Part of the Plan, Aziraphale. Never mind, it’s above your pay grade. What do you think you’re doing outside of the Holy Land?” Gabriel looked around, nose wrinkling with distaste. “There seems to be an awful lot of… _things_ here. Big smelly things.”

“They have camels in Egypt, Gabriel.”

“Yes, but you do need to be back there and not… here.” The camel that had been glaring at Gabriel now let loose a long, gargling fart. Gabriel looked like he might faint.

Aziraphale bit the inside of his lips to keep from smiling. “May I, uh, ask why?”

“Oh, there’s some stuff coming up, a pharaoh to rebel against, a prophet to— What are you wearing?”

Aziraphale felt his expression freeze. “Uh?”

Now that he had apparently decided to ignore the rude camel, Gabriel was staring at Aziraphale’s garments with confusion. It wasn’t active hatred or disgust, though, so Aziraphale gathered himself. 

“It’s just a different… style of robe, really,” he managed. He lifted a hand to brush the hair away from his forehead, a totally unnecessary gesture that showed off the sleeves of his new silk overrobe. They were huge sleeves, a nice blue to match his eyes—the man who had sold it to him had said he had beautiful eyes, and wasn’t that sweet? The whole robe was heavily embroidered and had some tasteful beading at the hems to ensure the cloth fell correctly. The clothing felt absolutely _amazing_ against his skin. It was impractical to wear it while traveling, of course, but he hadn’t been able to resist putting it on while the rest of his caravan slept. It just felt… decadent. Comfortable and weighty, and he had bought it from a human and now it was his and he could wear it or not wear it! Creating clothing from nothingness was serviceable, but this was a luxury.

Gabriel was still staring. “Humans made that?”

“Yes. Clever, isn’t it?”

Gabriel moved closer. His mighty, angelic hands hovered like a question mark—touching another angel wasn’t common. Aziraphale held his arm out obligingly, trying not to look nervous. Gabriel ran a finger over the beadwork. He pinched a fold of cloth between his fingertips and rubbed them together slowly. The fire in his eyes dimmed and he slowly straightened up. “...Huh. What made you buy it?”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and his brain was barely involved in him saying, “Oh, I felt that I was standing out a bit too much. It’s so hard to keep up with these human fashions unless you buy something new every year or so.”

“Blending in?”

“Well, you know, I’m stationed here. I have to look like the natives. I’m not dropping off a message and leaving again, so I have to keep from drawing attention. Working behind the scenes.” He was babbling. Gabriel was nodding, though, and Aziraphale found himself adding. “I have to make sure I stay ahead of my counterpart here, too.”

The blaze returned to Gabriel’s eyes, purple fire rekindling. “Your counterpart? There’s a demon?”

“At least one,” Aziraphale said. “He’s also been here since, er, basically The Beginning.”

“Ah, right, the serpent.”

“Yes! You know him?”

Gabriel gave Aziraphale a weird look. Aziraphale winched in his pleased smile a few notches and tried to make it into a grimace. Recognizing a demon probably wasn’t out of the ordinary for a higher-up angel. They probably had a whole _file_ on Crowley. A file of how evil he was. Right.

Gabriel said, “We know he’s here. We try to keep tabs but, well. Downstairs had their own systems that we’re still working to decipher. You’re thwarting him?”

“I’m doing my best,” Aziraphale said. “He’s rather tricky, of course, but I tend to find him out and undo all the, uh, the bad things he’s done.”

Gabriel’s eyes flickered. “All of them?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I do my best.”

“Hmm. That’s pretty good initiative, Aziraphale. We want to keep those demons down in Hell but they’re pretty wiley. How many times have you discorporated him?”

Aziraphale blinked. “What?”

“You know, killed him. Where’s your sword?”

“Oh. Uh.” He had lied to Gabriel once already, about clothing of all things, but for some reason, a lie didn’t spring to mind for why Aziraphale hadn’t even attempted to discorporate the demon Crowley in the past 3000 years. Apart from the fact that he still hadn’t run into that flaming sword he’d given away, he really didn’t want to encourage the image of himself as a warrior for Heaven anymore. He was on Earth to protect and encourage, not to cause harm. Aziraphale stuttered for a moment and finally admitted, “I haven’t ever really… killed him. It’s more that I undo his, uh, well, I try to get to humans first and, and I encourage…” Aziraphale trailed off in the face of Gabriel’s disbelieving stare.

“You have to keep killing them, Aziraphale. They keep popping back up, otherwise. They get a new body or try possessing people. I think some humans summon them, or think they’re deities, which is just ridiculous! There’s only one God! Speaking of which, you have to get back to Egypt soon.”

“I’ll miracle myself there in a jiff,” Aziraphale said, trying to smile.

“No, no, no miracles. I’m sorry to say it,” Gabriel said, not sounding particularly sorry, “but we’re cutting your miracle budget.”

“W-what?”

Gabriel gave Aziraphale a stern look. “You totally failed to destroy a single demon. That’s shoddy work. Heaven isn’t known for rewarding shoddy work.”

“Oh. I’m… I apologize.”

“Chin up, you’ll get him next time you see him. Well, you’d better get him, anyway. Don’t want to get your budget slashed again! You look like you could stand to brush up on the swordplay a bit before you take him on, but I’m sure an angel with your war record would have no trouble with one shifty, scrawny little demon.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Keep up Her good work, Aziraphale! And there’s always room for improvement.” Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder, which made Aziraphale stagger, then ascended back to Heaven. This thoroughly pissed off the insomniac camel. He grunted furiously, until Aziraphale hurried over and gave him a few reassuring pats. 

“There, there,” Aziraphale murmured. “He’s gone now. Well, probably gone.” He looked around nervously for any observers. The camel blinked his lovely eyes, lashes fluttering, and quieted. 

The night was still. Aziraphale returned to his seat by the banked fire and smoothed down his new robe over and over, letting the texture of cloth and embroidery take over his mind until he could stop thinking about killing a demon he barely knew. Such thoughts made him feel vaguely ill, like that hangover Crowley had warned him about when they’d drunk together in Shulvari.

It had been a long time since Aziraphale had been in a war. He would rather keep from remembering it. Instead, he thought about silk, and patience, and beautiful things, and what it was like to own something beautiful.


	4. Loves a good meal

**432 AD**

“Is it not to your taste, my lord Azure?” the proprietor, Cyril, asked with concern.

Aziraphale took his hand from his mouth and swallowed the bite of lamb he’d been choking on. “Um, no actually, I have to… Excuse me, please. You’re lovely, as always, this is lovely, but I, I have to—” He set the rest of his meal back on the counter and attempted to run after the flash of red hair he’d seen stalking down the street. It had gotten long since Rome, but it looked shaggy rather than styled into ringlets. The outfit looked like it had changed drastically, too, which was a bit sad because Crowley had looked quite stylish in his toga, no matter what that one rude drunk had said back in Rome.

Cyril stood in Aziraphale’s way, barring the exit, eyes wide with horror. “Was it the marinade? We tried something new, Theodosia and I, but if it—”

“It was fine,” Aziraphale said. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Terribly sorry.”

He managed to scoot out the door while Cyril pleaded to know how the food had offended. He then ran smack into six feet of sulphuric demon-stench. 

The demon had the excruciating green eyeshine of a leopard at night, and the faint spotted fuzz creeping out of the neck of her clothing to match. She wore the oiled leathers of a Hun mercenary, which would have looked intimidating if Aziraphale didn’t know for a fact that horses, and animals of any kind, absolutely hated demons.* She must be wandering the crowds while trying to look dangerous, without any idea of what an actual Hun would be doing in Constantinople. How silly of her.

*Crowley complained often about having to walk the entirety of the Silk Road because no horse or camel could stand to be within ten feet of him. The invention of the motorcar, with its non-sentient horsepower, was such a relief.

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale said, sidling around her as best he could. He remembered who he was supposed to be and added, “Back, foul fiend,” but his heart wasn’t in it. It had been a few centuries since he’d last seen Crowley and the demon hadn’t been in the best mood at the time. Catching up would have been nice, but as he scanned the crowd, he realized that the particular shade of red hair he’d hoped to chase down had vanished.

A hot, meaty breath by his ear made him flinch. “Hey, how’s the food here?”

Aziraphale looked up at this demon, glaring. “Didn’t you hear me? I said, stay back.”

“Just asking,” she purred. Her voice was a low rumble in her chest. She tapped her long, yellowed teeth with one sharp fingernail, eyes thoughtful. “I wonder how the owner tastes?”

“What? That’s not even a temptation,” Aziraphale sputtered. “That’s just senseless killing! How awful! Who is your supervisor? What’s your role here? Are you not trying to recruit humans for the ranks of Hell?”

She shrugged, a rippling movement. “A girl’s gotta eat. I can’t live on sins alone. Though I have inspired quite a few. Violence is my specialty.” She peered over his shoulder. “Looks tasty.”

Aziraphale looked briefly at the little Byzantine-Greek fusion cafe where he’d gotten his lunches for the past eight years, the worried little man in the doorway with his round and pretty daughter peeking over his shoulder, then looked up at the drooling demon. “It really wasn’t worth my time, I don’t think you’d like it.” 

“My lord Azure, what did I do wrong? Please, tell me,” Cyril called. “I’ll do anything for my best customer!”

The demon looked down at Aziraphale. Her eyebrows were raised, fangs glistening.

“My good man, you have mistaken me for someone else,” Aziraphale said firmly. To the demon, he said, “It’s terrible, honestly. Bland, dry, barely any flavor.” Drawing on an old memory of a very grumpy, drunk Crowley complaining about bad times at home, he lowered his voice and added, “Reminds me of the stuff they make in Heaven.”

The demon’s mocking smile winked out, her lips pressing together. Her flat, glowing eyes locked on his. Aziraphale stared back, knowing he had a smile stuck on his face but unsure what else to do with it. Her change in demeanor was a bit shocking. Demons really must not like remembering what Heaven was like. It made sense—especially when the food of Heaven really was dull—but it made Aziraphale’s heart sink a bit, knowing that Heaven had left such scars on these demons. He kept his blank, hopefully guileless smile hitched up his cheeks, though, and tried to give nothing away.

Cyril, thank God, took a hint and kept quiet.

“Fuck Heaven,” the demon finally spat, and the spray of her expletive flared with the embers of Hell. Aziraphale winced and dusted off his chiton. The demon turned with another snarl and shouldered her way through the crowd.

“Who was that?” asked Cyril’s daughter, Theodosia. 

“Bad news, my dear. Best stay away from people who act so rudely.”

“We’re in the restaurant business, my lord,” she said, a bit of condescension seeping into her voice. “It’s unavoidable.” 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. "Right, of course."

Theodosia’s father gave her a warning nudge, but they were both still looking after the demon. They looked entirely too curious. Taking a quick, sideways peek at their souls, Aziraphale saw twisting fear in Cyril’s heart and… well, Theodosia had always had an eye for strong-looking women. 

Aziraphale coughed, trying not to blush at the rather lustful thoughts Theodosia was entertaining, and decided a bit of angelic intervention was in order to restore some level of good to this encounter. “Well, I missed my, ah, meeting, so I suppose I can finish my meal…?”

Cyril immediately stopped staring after the demon and went back to beaming. “But of course, my lord! We are happy to have you!” He ducked back inside and Theodosia cast one last, thoughtful look after the exciting, dangerous mercenary before following her father and Aziraphale back in.

“You are most gracious,” Aziraphale said. “I’m sorry I tried to leave so abruptly, I just saw someone I knew.”

“A friend,” Cyril said, ushering Aziraphale back to his counter. “I completely understand. Theo! Get the rice, love.”

“Oh, no, not a friend exactly, just an—”

“You would not run so quickly from my meals for just anyone, my lord,” Cyril said. “A dear friend indeed.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Aziraphale said quickly. “Could I hear the desserts again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really hard chapter to write, but I think its because I got too excited about the time period I chose for it. This is the fresh start of the Byzantine Empire! Theodosius II is ruling the Eastern Roman (aka Byzantine) Empire, Attila the Hun is about to take power and get huge amounts of tribute to not kick all of the Eastern and Western Roman Empires' collective asses, the last Olympic games were held just 40 years earlier... I wanted to stick a lot of references to the cool people of this time period in here but these chapters are just moments, alas. Would have been nice to mention Hypatia or Pulcheria or Chrysaphius. I had to content myself with knowing that Cyril and Theodosia are totally time-appropriate names, and sticking a reference to Huns in here because dang that's an interesting culture.
> 
> I did find an article on Byzantine Empire foods that was medium-helpful, and absolutely no articles on terms of respect in the Byzantine Empire (though there were extensive lists of military and religious titles).


End file.
